I stayed in the torus shape of a tokamak face all day (this is a new style of portraiture I am trying to perfect even though it means painting with fast moving atomic particles); my body had disagreed on principle and had cast off it clothes like an unfinished building site waiting for a new consignment of sand. June burrowed in mole rat tunnels while trying out various colour combinations for a three masted yacht (although the man with three names who recently arrived on earth after hitching a life on a passing comet talked all posh and called it schooner). We met for lunch in a bivouac in Death Valley - we are in training for a holiday on Mars (although I would have preferred Minerva but the brochure said it was too expensive).
My Diary: Shedding Dreams Like Insect Skins
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